Angel Tears
by Guardian2Be
Summary: WARNING: this is not VA this is an original...Kalie-a nine year old is abused by her father. Why? Because he blames her for her mom's death. Can she survive long enough to get help? ORIGINAL STORY!All the best, Guardian2Be


**Angel **Tears

**Prologue **

**M**y name's Kalie. I live in a little apartment in New Falls, Michigan. New Falls is a small town. It's nice here. Nice people. Nice neighbors. They're nice. I know someone that isn't nice in this serene town. I'm writing this now, in fear. My father is downstairs probably snoring. Probably drunk. Typical. I rubbed my arm, covering my forearm, just until my fingertips felt the searing pain of it. Flinching, I dropped my arms. My bruised face stung. My torn bed stared at me. I stared back. Ugh. I was such a _mess. _But I didn't dare going down the stairs, to my drunken father, who was probably already awake and even more drunk from his after buzz. My hair was in knots. I slowly got up from my wooden chair, avoiding the squeaky spots in the floor. Trying not to make noise so that my father doesn't wake up and smack me around like last night. Typical around here.

**Chapter one**

**I**n the morning, I got up and headed downstairs to my father, beer in hand, passed out on the couch. "Nice morning greeting Dad," I muttered to no one in particular. I silently crept to the other side of the couch to see his eyes, his hanging open mouth, and, of course, the beer bottle in his gnarled hand. I picked the beer bottle up, wincing when he turned his back to me. I carefully walked past him, and into the kitchen. I made myself some cereal and left a note on the kitchen for my father. I wrote it hurriedly then hustled out the door.

**D**ear Dad,

**Y**our lunch is in the refrigerator, next to the spoiled cheese. I'm in school if you need me. (Try not to need me). I'll be home around 5. The kitchen is about empty. I'll pick up groceries tomorrow. *Kalie*

**A**t school, I headed into Mr. Nylie's classroom. English has never been so boring. We opened our books to learn about big adjectives. Ugh. Casey Langerio watched me from her seat in the back corner. Besides being my locker mate, she is my best friend. I felt something hit the back of my head, and I turned to find a little crumpled up ball. I picked it up and smoothed it out. Read the message. Her handwriting was in that cursive she always loves.  
**W**hat's up?

~ Case

**I** turned to her and shrugged. I turned and wrote under what Casey had written.

**M**eet me in the B- room later?

*Kalie*

**I** scrunched the ball up again, and tossed it out of Mr. Nylie's view, just like Case had done. She picked it up from the floor and read the response. I waited. Then Casey nodded yes for her answer. I turned back to my book and dozed till the end of class.

**A**fter class I turned toward the bathroom where I knew Case would be waiting. "Hey," Casey said. "Hi," I said, I didn't really feel like talking. She looked at me, concern in her eyes. "Kay, what really happened today?" I shrugged, knowing that wasn't the answer that she was fishing for. After that, we didn't talk for the rest of the day. She hates it when I lie to her. I do too.

**S**chool was long enough for me. I was looking forward to go home and.. Wait, did I just say "looking forward to going _**home"**_? I usually was never happy to be going home, but I couldn't wait to crash on my bed. I trudged through the door to see my father, sitting on the old rocking chair we have, looking stern. "Where's my beer?" he asked stressing the syllable of the last word. "I'm going to pick up groceries tomorrow. I told you in the note I left on the kitchen table." He looked at me as if I were crazy. "You know I don't go in there!" He nearly screamed the words. I just stood there, waiting for him to stand and raise his hand in the air for a blow to the cheek. He stood, grunting as he did and headed toward me, lumbering. He held his hand in the air, for dramatic effect, I guess. I flinched as I felt the stinging sensation that followed the hit. My cheek was red and he knew it. He grabbed my wrist and towed me toward my bedroom. I tried to stop, but it didn't work. He slammed the door behind him and turned to me. "You know I don't go in there." I nodded, too afraid to speak. I crawled under my ratty covers, knowing what will come next. Well, at least I get to be in the bed while I get a whooping. He walked toward me, broken beer bottle in hand.

**Chapter Two**

**H**e stood by my bed, stared down at me. He held the beer bottle up in the air and came down on the bed, using all his strength, just shy of the rest of my uncovered body, unprotected by the covers. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched my hands together and prayed as the bottle came down.

**G**od, can you hear me down here? Is the connection bad? I'm scared right now. Being 9, I can't imagine a life other than this one. I hate this life. Why did you choose this one for me? I need answers. When will this life end? *Kalie*

**I**t was well after midnight before the beer bottle finally shattered, and he was unable to hit me with it anymore. He was still angry when he left my room, at about 1:00 in the morning. He shut the door, louder than when he entered. I heard the "click" of the door locking. I'll probably be in here for a while.

**I**n the morning, I had barely left my bed before the door opened and Casey walked in. She saw the shards of the glass bottle and carefully stepped around them. She sat down next to me, too afraid to say anything. "Kalie..." she shook her head and her blond pony tail quivered. I knew she was choosing her words to not offend me. "What happened last night?" She looked at me and a tear escaped from her eye, quickly sweeping down her now-flushed face. Her cheeks always get flushed if she's sad or frustrated. But this time, it was all sorrow. For _me_. I didn't like people to feel sorry for me. "Well," I took a deep breath and told her the whole story of last night. She was outraged. "We should tell someone! If you're getting smacked with a hand and a beer bottle in the same night, well, that's regular child abuse, Kay!" I nodded, now aware of the tears quietly lapping down my cheeks and onto my hands, folded in my lap. "No," I said quietly, not knowing if she heard me or not. "What do you mean 'no'? You're getting abused! Tell Mrs. Parker, you know, down the street, or the grocery person, Brad! Tell someone!" she obviously heard me. "If I tell, then my father could kill me the night after! Just like my mom…" that's when I finally bawled into my friend's shoulder. Embarrassed, scared, I was both.

**Chapter Three**

**A**fter Casey had left, I cried into my pillow. After I was done sobbing, I tumbled into my separate bathroom. I stared at my reflection. My swollen eye, from last night, had a yellow and green tint to it. I touched it gingerly. My fingertips touched my eyelid. It was just a little purple. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the pain of my right eye, I opened them. The hurt stayed the same. My father pounded on the door. "KALIE!" he pounded harder. I rushed out the bathroom, shut the door behind me and crawled into bed, not excited about how, probably; I'd get a repeat of last night's charade. "It's locked." I said, being careful to keep my words level. I heard the "click" of the door being unlocked. My lips parted, in shock, or in fear, or maybe both. The door swung open. He entered, followed, sheepishly, by Mrs. Parker. He pulled me out of bed and toward him. I smelled the whisky that covered his breath. I tried to pull away. Useless, I know.

**I** caught the eye of Mrs. Parker. She stared at me and my father, probably amazed at what she was witnessing. He slammed me, not too hard, not too soft, either, into my wall. "This is how you handle idiot children," he said as I crumbled on the floor. My nose, hands, and lips were bleeding. Mrs. Parker didn't answer. She just stared at me. I beckoned her, with my eyes, to go. Just go. She saw me. Nodded and left my room. Dad didn't try to stop her. Instead, he turned to me; I was sprawled on the floor. My eyes were swollen shut. I saw through my lashes; his boots in front of my face. I was pretty sure that was blood I tasted in the back of my throat. "Dad… Stop, please." He dismissed my plea for him to stop and pulled me up by my hair. The pain was brutal. I couldn't feel my legs. They wouldn't move. He hoisted me up by my wrist and towed me toward his dirty truck, my legs dragging behind. He threw me into the passenger seat. I buckled and he got in and started the truck.

**A**t the grocery store, he stopped in a parking space. "Well?" he looked at me, expectantly. I sighed and unbuckled. Opened the door. Climbed out. I trudged along, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. I entered. Brad, the check out guy, also one of my good friends, came over to me, after seeing my eyes. "Kalie? What happened?" I shrugged. "Brad, remember what I said when…" "Yeah, that. Sorry, none of my business." "I need the usual, please." Then I remembered and added quickly. "Throw some fruit in their too, for me." He nodded then walked through the store. After a couple minutes he returned with two 12 packs of beer, some assorted fruits, and two percent milk. He put it in a bag for me as I put a twenty on the counter. "Thanks, Brad." He nodded and I picked up the bag. My legs were being stubborn again as I made my way to…. Wait, the truck is gone. I started to make my way home, and Mrs. Parker drove past me. She put it in reverse and offered me a ride. I gratefully accepted.

**W**e rode in silence for a couple minutes, when she asked, "Does that happen every night?" she asked, and I guess she was referring to last night. "Mostly, when my father even bothers to come home." I hadn't realized what I was doing before the words came out, and its high exchange. Her elderly hands gripped the steering wheel. "You can stay with me anytime you like." She meant it, the way her green eyes sparkled. "No, it's okay, really." She stopped the car suddenly, just a block away from my ugly house. "Kalie, if you need something,_ anything,_ and I do mean anything, call me. No hesitating." I nodded. I had to know one thing. "What were you doing at my house last night?" "I heard you crying. I had to check on you. I had asked your father if someone had hurt or made you sad. He made me come into your room and… Well, you know the rest." I nodded. Those dang tears were tricky because they were pouring out endlessly. I was not sure if I wanted to reveal it. "He hurt me, Mrs. Parker, hurt me horribly." She nodded, but I wasn't sure she understood. "Oh, honey," she said, and wrapped her arms around me. I made her promise not to tell anyone, no matter how much she wanted to. I could tell she wanted to take me to her house and stay there, but she knew she couldn't. She used to be a lawyer. And she knew that if she took me it would make my father say I had been kidnapped by her. My life stinks.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**I **walked into my room after putting the groceries away. I thought about Mrs. Parker. She was being nice to me. I can understand that. She saw me being abused right in front of her. I changed into my only pair of pajamas and crawled into bed, eager to rest my muscles. I rarely get to feel my muscles relax. I've lived in fear for so long, I forgot how to relax. I miss it. I thought about Casey. She knows and she also knows not to tell anyone, because she saw it in my eyes I guess. I thought about Brad. He has his suspicions. I knew he suspected something last week when he saw the big bruise on my forearm. I thought for about an hour before unconsciousness hunted me and found me. I fell back into a dream.

**T**hursday morning. I got up and headed into the kitchen for a strawberry before work. I worked at the nearby nursing home, Forever Young. It was a strange name, but a meaningful one. I changed into a T-shirt and jeans, slammed on my tennis shoes and headed out the door, but not before writing my father another note on his rocking chair.

**D**ear Dad,

I'm going to work today. I'll be home around 6:00. Your beer is in the fridge.

*Kalie*

**W**hen I arrived at Forever Young, I checked on the charts. Nothing seems to be going wrong with any of the residents, but Mr. Reed needs his medicine in a couple minutes. Mr. Reed is one of my favorite residents because he always has something nice to say about everyone. I went into the medicine cabinet and grabbed the medicine labeled, "Reed, George." I grabbed the white container of pills and headed toward the East Wing. Room 132. I entered the room and found Mr. Reed watching television. "Hi, Mr. Reed," I said; setting the tray with the glass of water and the container of pills on his bedside table. "Hello, Kalie," he said. "I like your shirt." "Thank you," I said, "But complementing won't stop you from getting your medicine." He snapped his fingers in a joking kind of way. "Shoot, well, I tried." He smiled. I laughed and handed him two pills from the white container. He took them and swallowed a swig of the water.

**A**fter he had taken his medicine and we had talked for a while, it was about nap time for whoever wanted one. He asked me to read a story for him, because his Parkinson's disease won't allow him to read an actual book. I do this for him once in a while. I started to read from _Wuthering Heights._ I wasn't paying attention to the words I was speaking. I just waited for Mr. Reed to drift off to sleep. When he finally did, I left the room after turning off the light and shutting the door.

**O**utside the room, I headed to the lobby of Forever Young. At the main desk, Mrs. Guiro's buzzer was blinking. Each resident at Forever Young had a button in their rooms that connected to the main desk to ask for assistance. I headed to the West wing. When I entered, Mrs. Guiro was in her bed, fast asleep. I checked again to see if her buzzer was blinking. It was. I shrugged. I left the room. I'll call the janitor later and see what the problem is. My last hour of work was finally over. I checked on the residents one more time before letting the night nurse, Roslyn, take over. She greeted me. "Hey, Kalie," she stopped when she saw my eyes. "Wow, what happened?" "I, uh, fell down the stairs." My words slurred at the end as I rushed past her. No more questions for me tonight. I was glad the patients here didn't ask questions.

**Chapter five**

**A**s I walked home, I thought about Mrs. Parker's offer. I decided to stop by there, just for a little while. I jogged past my house, just in case my father was looking out the window. I had said, in the note, that I would be home by 6:00 and it was only 5. But I couldn't take any chances. I approached the green house. I had been in there before, but that was a long time ago. I rang the door bell. She greeted me with a warm hug. She smelled like sugar cookies and spring flowers. I melted into the embrace. "Come inside, child, don't just stand there," She led me into the kitchen and made me sit at a table. She poured us both a glass of milk. She set the milk and a plate of Oreos in front of me. "I'm sorry for coming by unexpected, I…" "Nonsense , child, you can come as often as you like." "Thank you," I said. I took an Oreo, dipped it in the milk, and popped it in my mouth.

**W**e finished off the Oreos and she led me to an open living space area. We sat on the floral decorated couch and got caught up on what we were up to since we saw each other. She told me about her new shower curtains, covered in bumblebees. I hesitated before telling her about my trip to the grocery store. She nodded and listened until I was done. We exchanged stories from 5:30 to 6:15.

**W**hen I realized what time it was, I left the house in the hurry, thanking Mrs. Parker before I left the house. After I shut the door and nearly tripped on the steps, Mrs. Parker stepped out onto her terrace. "Kalie! I'll drive you home! It'll go faster!" I nodded and waited an agonizing wait, until she had made it out on her porch, down her steps, and to the driveway to where I stood. "Let's go." She jogged to her car.

**H**er car smelled of peppermints, a nice smell to clear your mind of abusive dads, keeping a dreadful secret that's killing you with your best friend, and thoughts that say, "You're going to die tonight, because of your father." We pulled up onto our soaked driveway, rain pelting the windows. I watched the rain drops trickle down. I took a deep breath and opened the car door. I pulled my jacket around me, tighter and tighter as my father approached Mrs. Parker and me. "Get in your room; I'll come in there in a minute." He shoved me toward the door. I looked back at Mrs. Parker, afraid, yes, for me? No, for her. I tried, failing, to make her get back in her car and drive off. I stalked off to my room, looking back one last time, to see Mrs. Parker approach my fuming dad.

**Chapter Six**

**I **went down the hallway and entered my room. Shutting the door behind me, I stood by my bed, knowing that if I was sitting on my bed, it would hurt that much more. My dad, angry at that, stomped into my room. Followed, angrily, by Mrs. Parker. "You listen to me, Sir, you do _not_ treat children, like your daughter," she gestured to me. "She has been terrified! Today, she came into my house, soaking wet, in summer clothes! And yet you've been tormenting, abusing, and killing this girl!" My father, just about to throw her into the wall, took my arm, and shoved me against the wall and moved his hand from my arm to my neck, not releasing his grip. He wasn't choking me, just holding me against the wall. He positioned my head just so that I could see Mrs. Parker, ranting, about how I was mistreated. When she was done, my father released me. I got off the wall and sunk onto the wooden chair that came with the desk. He turned around to face the woman, Mrs. Parker stood firm. "You listen to me, lady." His voice spoke with a firm level. I was surprised that, even a drunk, can have some dignity, I guess, even if he was known for abusing his daughter, or being known as the biggest drunk around town. "I've had a rough time of my own! My wife died last year. I have an annoying daughter, who gets hurt every five minutes. I've been on lay-off for two years now, and the taxes are due!" Through all this, he was on the verge of tears. His voice never showed any weak spots or holes. Mrs. Parker, hands on her hips, listened. "Does that give you any right to abuse your daughter?" My father still stuck to his guns. He didn't show any sorrow or weakening in his mind. "I thought not." Mrs. Parker was sixty years old and being able to rant like that, I had to give her credit. "Come on, honey," she held her hand out to me. I didn't know whether to take it or not. My father's stern look cut me down to the core. "If you take that," my dad said, cold heartedly, "you'll be beat till you die." My brain said those familiar words. "You're going to die tonight, because of your father". I grasped her hand, _not _knowing what would come next. But I wish I had.

**Chapter Seven**

**R**ight when my fingertips caressed her hand, my dad shoved me, _hard_. I immediately wished my bed was on the other side of the room. I crashed into the wall. The next thing I knew, I was in the doctor's examination room. I was lying on one of those comfy beds. My head spun with no sign of slowing. My head replayed like a tape. It rewound the whole day. I could suddenly see Mrs. Parker's violet colored house. My eyes shone at the sight of Mrs. Parker's embrace. I had never had a hug, at least from someone I barely knew, since I was three. I shuddered at remembering my father's hand on my neck; my sight blurred after I got to the part where I was just about to hit the wall. I heard the opening of a door. A doctor came in, pictures in hand. "What's that?" I asked, surprised at my scraggly voice. "You're awake. Great. Oh, these?" he gestured to the pictures. "These are your x-ray results." He walked over to me and checked the chart hanging on the foot of the bed. "Do you know a Grace Parker? She signed on as your guardian." I nodded, but then said, "But she isn't my guardian." He looked again at the pictures in his left hand. He said, "Your left leg is broken, fractured ankle, and a minor concussion." I must have looked baffled, because he gave me a glass of water that I had been too feeble to reach. He put it in my hand and told me to drink it. I hadn't realized it, but my throat was burning. I downed the drink. He asked if I wanted him to bring Mrs. Parker in, and I nodded. He left the room, and a couple seconds later, Mrs. Parker came. She sat down on a wooden chair that looked a little too much like the chair I had destroyed when my father had pushed me into it. I cringed at the recent memory. She held my hand, careful to not harm it in any way, even though it was just my head, ankle, and leg that hurt terribly. She spoke then, being kind and almost a little fearful when the mention of my father came around.

**A**fter we had talked for a while, avoiding the talk of what had put me in the hospital, I felt it needed to come out. "What happened after I crashed into the wall?" My voice was barely a whisper, as if I was afraid my father was going to come and knocked me around. "Well," she said, looking around to avoid staring into my hazel eyes. "Your father, he stared at you for a minute as if _I_ had been the one to throw you into that wall." She was hesitating, I knew. "After that, he ran out of the house and across the street, heading toward Berol, I think, I think he felt he was going to be safe there. When I made sure he was gone, I called the police."My ears shot up at the mention of the police. "What did you tell them?" my voice was cold. She was expecting this question and knew how to answer. "I told them about your father."

**Chapter Eight**

"**W**hat?"I said, incredulous at what I had just heard. I raised my voice just a little. "Kalie…" she seemed sorry, her normally sparkling green eyes dull. "It had to be done, Sugar, you could have been killed! I had to do something." _My Father's picture is probably going to be on the news. Tomorrow's headlines: __**Crazy child abuser loose, last seen heading toward Berol. **_"What exactly did you tell them?" I raised an eyebrow to her. "I told them that you accidently got pushed into the wall. It was convincing enough for them, I guess." "Oh…" I said, not wanting to add more. It was clear that she didn't either.

**A**fter I got released from the hospital, and after confirming that Grace Marie Parker was my guardian for a couple days, we went out to lunch. I didn't have any money, but Mrs. Parker insisted that she pay for me. I nodded my thanks. Using crutches wasn't as bad as I imagined. My cast was bulky as I slid into the booth across from Mrs. Parker. My cast made it hard to move. I set my crutches on the side of the booth, careful not to knock them over. A pretty waitress, Jenna, greeted us and gave us menus. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes." She said in a perky voice. We flipped over our menus. I wanted the Chicken Ceasar Salad. "What are you getting?" Mrs. Parker asked, not raising her gaze from the menu she was holding. "The Chicken Ceasar Salad." I said. "Hmm." She said. I guessed she was thinking about that too, the way her voice gave away a higher sound than she expected. The waitress came back and asked us what drink we wanted. "I want the chocolate milk, please." I said. She wrote something on her pad, and turned to Mrs. Parker. "I'll take the iced tea, please." "Okay." She turned from us and walked off toward a door, leading to the kitchen area. We sat there, staring at each other. Mrs. Parker caressed her empty coffee mug, eyeing me. "You know that I would have found out eventually." "I know…" I said my hoarse voice barely louder than a whisper. "So why did you keep it a secret?" She asked a little cross with my actions. The waitress, Jenna, set our food on the table. "Anything else you need, you just call, ok?" Her strawberry blonde hair hung down by her face like a veil. Mrs. Parker nodded, and she trotted off. "So why did you keep it secret?" Mrs. Parker, leaning in and lowering the volume of her voice, said. "I don't know," my voice shattered. " I thought my father would hurt me even more." I said, nearly on the brink of tears. "Come now, child, he's long gone. He's not going to hurt you anymore." I cringed at the memory of my father. She was upset at my father, I knew that. "I promise." Our hands clasped together unexpectedly. My eyes widened at the touch of Mrs. Parker's fingers. "Oh, and stop calling me Mrs. Parker, I'd rather have you call me Grace. All of my friends do." I told her I'd definitely do that. Grace. I liked the name. It suited her. The elderly woman, who took me in because I was afraid of my abusive dad. It felt right to call her that.

**Chapter nine**

**A**fter lunch, she told me that I had to answer some questions for the police. "Why?" I asked**, **afraid of saying something stupid to the authorities. "Have they found my father?" I was even more afraid now. "They think they have, but they just want you to confirm it." I stared through the dirty window, afraid to look into those emerald green eyes. "Oh." My voice was shaking, and I knew it. I squeezed my eyes shut. The swelling has gone down dramatically, so it didn't hurt as much as before. I opened them, and hot tears swelled down my face. My hazel eyes dull, I shut them. Even with them closed, my eyes still poured the lava-like tears downward. I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her elderly voice didn't say anything, but I knew Grace's green eyes bored into my head sending me a reassuring message that I couldn't open. But I knew I didn't need to open the message, because I knew what she would say.

**W**hen we pulled into the police station, I was terrified to identify my father. There was little hope that he wouldn't be there. Mrs. Parker- I mean, Grace,-opened my door. I climbed out. The weather was warm, but an ice cold chill ran down my spine. I shivered and Grace put an arm around me. We entered the building. A secretary greeted us and led us into a medium sized room. It had one of those see-through walls. I peered through it. There were no people on the other side. I breathed a sigh of relief. The secretary told us a policeman will be in there in a second. She walked through the heavy door. A couple minutes later, a tall, well built policeman came into the room. He was in his mid thirties, by the looks of him. "Hello, ladies, let's get this over with, shall we?"

**H**e set us down at a table in front of the see-through wall. A glass pitcher, filled with water, sat in the middle of the table. A little microphone was set in front of the man. He explained to me what would happen. He told us that he'd call the men in, one by one. He will ask the man to say my name, loud, like the time Dad banged on the door in my bedroom. I nodded at the directions I was given. Then, he called the first number. "Send in number one." A bulky man came through the door. He had a piece of cardboard with the number one written on it. "Repeat the following…." He said my name through the microphone, made his volume louder, just shy of the volume my father used. The man walked forward, into the only light in the room. He wasn't my father, but he said my name anyway. "KALIE!" his voice was rough. I shook my head, and he told the guard to take him away. The tough looking guard took the man to a door on the other side of the room. "Number two." Another no. "Number three." The man walked in, stepped into the light, and said these words. "I found you." He was my father. His gruff voice echoed throughout the room. I heard Grace suck in a breath. I screamed. I wasn't sure why, probably terrified of him. There was only a wall of glass between me and my father. I ran out the door. Away from Grace, away from the policeman, and, the thing that drove me to running out the door passed armed policemen, my father.

**I** was going down the second flight of stairs, before I tripped. I fell down the rest of the flight and stumbled down the next one. My left arm was beating. Out in the parking lot, a car pulled in front of me. "Help!" I screeched at the vehicle. The passenger door opened. "Get in." said a familiar voice. I didn't know who the voice belonged to but I got in the vehicle. We drove to my house. I didn't want to look into the probably familiar face. We drove into the drive way and I hopped out and sprinted toward my room, down the familiar hallway, turning the familiar brass handle, into the same dull room. I hopped into bed. My father came into my room, shut my door. My eyes widened at the sight of him. He came toward me. He yanked me up by my neck and slammed me into the wall, neck first. As I slid to the floor, I prayed for the second time in my life.

**G**od, I wondered what it would be like to die**, **to walk with you, in heaven. All I want to say is, take care of Grace, she is good. And also be good to Casey, a true friend who is trusted with even the greatest of secrets. I've had an okay life through them. Tell them that I love them and to take care. Thank you.

I closed my eyes one last time after thanking God.

**M**y name is Kalie. I live in Heaven. I'm writing this now, in everlasting joy. I'm in heaven, in an angel's arms. There are nice people here. Nice neighbors too. My father's in jail. Probably miserable. Typical. I'm happy here. I don't have to worry about going downstairs because I don't live there anymore. I touched my forearm, eyes, face, leg, and ankle. In this new body, there is no pain; nor tears. My body glows. Please don't feel sorry for me. I still hate that. I am happy here. I'm in an angel's arms. That angel is my mother. She is shedding happy tears, which are drops of pure sunlight. Angel tears are what helped me through that life. Angel tears. Angel Tears.

The end

Cheyenne Brockett


End file.
